


i can’t tell who cares anymore

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abuse of Power, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, CG!Techno, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Little Wilbur Soot, Non-Sexual Age Play, Physical Abuse, fake cg!Dream, if I do come back to this then cg!phil + supportive!tommy, impure/ trauma-induced involuntary regression, sbi is found family who aren’t related but use labels like they are, ✨venting✨ May or may not come back to this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:01:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29137518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Everything hurts.(Or, a fic where Dream enjoys the power he has, Techno worries for his brother, and Wilbur suffers.)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade
Comments: 11
Kudos: 88
Collections: Anonymous





	i can’t tell who cares anymore

**Author's Note:**

> tw for physical and emotional abuse
> 
> wilbur’s regression age is 4-7
> 
> vent fic I might come back to. if I do, then there’ll be sexual abuse and implied rape in this too but rn it’s just physical and emotional bcus im barely holding toogeter

Everything hurts.

Wilbur can feel every bruise on his body and every thin cut that sluggishly bleeds and stains his coat, but he doesn’t dare cry. (Not that he can. He barely has the energy to breathe, much less burst into tears.) Not when Dream could hear him, not when it would make Dream mad and make him hurt Wilbur all over again.

Even now he can hear his self-proclaimed “caregiver” (not his, never his, but he doesn’t want to get hurt even more if he says it out loud) bustle around the campfire, humming and cooking something for the both of them. He doesn’t let Wilbur go back to Pogtopia, doesn’t let him go back to his family, to his real caregivers who would bandage his wounds and ruffle his hair. People who he could actually trust to regress voluntarily around, and not because he was forced into it from stress.

They would take care of him... or at least, they would use to.

Nowadays, he’s pretty sure his brothers want nothing to do with him, and he can’t exactly blame them. Wilbur’s always been an awful fucking person. It really had only been a matter of time until they realized that. The only reason they’re sticking by him now is because they’re all family, otherwise he’s sure Tommy and Techno would’ve dropped him and his problems already.

It’s an upsetting thought, but it’s also the truth.

Not that he wants to think about it right now.

Right now, he’s tired. He’s hurt. He just wants to be safe, but he can’t _be_ safe anymore, not when he’s little and not when he’s big and definitely not here with Dream right outside the tent, just waiting for him to mess up-

A fresh wave of tears well up in his eyes, and he barely suppresses his sniffles, quiet breathy whimpers escaping despite his best efforts. Wilbur can feel himself slipping, the pain and the terror getting harder and harder to fight off. He doesn’t want to be in this tent when he regresses. He doesn’t want to be near Dream when he regresses.

He just wants to go home.

The sound of the tent unzipping makes him flinch, and he curls up as much as he can. Maybe if he makes himself look small enough, he won’t get hurt as much. But Dream grabs him by the back of his collar anyway, tugging him up and out of the tent. “No- no, no please-“

The grip on his collar gets tighter. Wilbur goes silent.

“Good boy,” Dream praises, gently wiping his tears. “You’re not a baby, are you? You’re a big boy, and big boys don’t cry like that... how old are you, Wil?” Tanned fingers grab his, nails pressing down hard enough to make another wave of tears spring up, though he doesn’t dare make a noise. “Well?”

He doesn’t want to talk.

Dream’s fingers dig into the back of his neck.

“I... I’m not...” Wilbur can’t stop shaking in Dream’s hold, can’t stop flinching every time he touches his face and cards his fingers through his hair. “I...”

“You know I’ll always take care of you, right? I’m the only one who ever will.” A threadbare but soft rabbit is pressed into arms, and that’s when he slips. Tears silently roll down his cheeks as he stares at Dream in mute terror, tensing up in preparation for a hit... that never comes. Instead, he’s enveloped in a soft blanket, Dream’s arms wrapped around him. “What a good listener. You’re such a good boy, Wil. How old are you? Can you tell me now?”

“S... Sev’n...? D’nno...” Dream presses a kiss to his temple, holding him tighter and lightly rocking him in his arms, whispering praises under his breath. Wilbur can’t help it; he soaks up the praise and attention, desperate for whatever comfort he can get. It’s been weeks since his caregivers have given him time of day.

If he were big, he thinks he would hate this.

(Right now, Wilbur knows he does.)

* * *

He stifles a sob as he bandages the cuts that run up and down his upper arm. Dream had been mean today with their games. They always end with Wilbur getting hurt in someway, but today was especially bad.

His hands shake as he sticks plaster after plaster over the numerous cuts. He’s too little to properly put them on, so most of them hang off or bunch up uncomfortably on his skin. Wilbur’s half tempted to just let himself bleed, just so he can curl up on his bed and relax in his little space for once.

Another plaster sticks to itself, and Wilbur lets out a frustrated noise, fingers reaching to tug at his hair-

“Wilbur? You alright? I thought I smelled blood—“ Dream kicks open the door, smudges of glowstone dust on his face with an axe in hand, and he’s never going to be safe anywhere, is he?

Wilbur burst into tears.

Dream rushes towards him, and he flinches back, curling up as much as he can as he ducks his head into his knees. It’s hard to breathe, every bit of his energy going towards not making a sound unless spoken too, even as Dream shakes him and asks what’s wrong. It’s a trick, it’s always a trick, he won’t be fooled-

A heavy weight drapes over him, swallowing him up.

His blankie, the one Tommy made for him so long ago. He hadn’t brought it to the SMP, so how...?

Something shifts on the outside, a flash of pink. Not green.

Cautiously, Wilbur pokes his head out and comes face to face with his brother, who’s watching him with a slight crease on his forehead. “Hey,” Techno says softly when he sees Wilbur’s head poke out of the blanket. “How old are you right now?”

There’s no _quiet hands, Wilbur_ or _use your words, Wil_ , and he nearly bursts into tears all over again. With trembling hands, he raises five bloodstained fingers. Techno frowns, grip tightening around his axe, though he’s quick to relax and toss it away when he sees how Wilbur flinches.

“Wilbur,” he says, almost as if he’s approaching a frightened animal, “Did you hurt yourself? I’m not mad, just worried.” Wilbur doesn’t say anything, only curls up further into his blanket and stares at him. He wants him to go. He wants him to stay. He wants a hug.

“You’re hurt. I’ve got some of the bandaids that you like, the ones with the dolphins and orcas on them. Can I patch you up?”

...If he wanted to hurt him, he would’ve done it already.

Wilbur nods, quietly handing him his cut up arm, tears rolling down his face as the cold air stings his cuts. Techno keeps a neutral face at the sight of them, patching him up with quiet assurances that it’d be over quickly. As soon as he places the last one, his brother leaves, which hurts but is understandable. Instead of focusing on that, he focuses on how pretty the baby blue plasters look against his pale skin, a texture he always loves to run his fingers against. For a few quiet minutes, Wilbur just sits and stims.

And then Techno comes back, a few story books and Milo in hand. “Here,” he says, placing the orca stuffie in front of him. “I’m gonna read some of your favorites aloud, okay? You don’t have to listen if you don’t want to.”

Wilbur bites his lip, pulling Milo to his chest as Techno begins to read, the deep monotone slowly lulling him to sleep. It’s been so long since they’ve just sat like this, and he’s missed this.

It won’t last. He knows it won’t.

But for now, all Wilbur wants to do is tuck himself in this moment and try to make it last as long as possible.


End file.
